


(blows a kiss to the sea) for Megatron

by bennybonny



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (as u can probs guess from my other fics lol), Bathtub Sex, Erotic Poetry, Hand Jobs, M/M, Stripping, and normal poetry but tbh its just an excuse for sexually charged discussions, don’t worry tho, glub glub beach, he’s a shark where else are they gonna do it?, imma write sexy fish!!!!, it’s a big bathtub, mermaid au, really stupid euphemisms, sooo many fish puns omg, the shape of water attacked me personally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennybonny/pseuds/bennybonny
Summary: Minimus, a lifeguard, thinks a merman is drowning and swims out to save him.hopefully this wasn't a turtle disaster? but mer-may minimegs... the idea hooked me!! it's been too long since i last made an impulsive de-sea-cion... and besides, i reely couldn't resist the oppur-tuna-ty to go wild on fish puns(happy belated mer may, and happy pride lol)





	1. nothing beside remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APPARENTLY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT A *SHORT FIC* IS!!!
> 
> so I bassed the humanformers off jnweidles designs! here’s some of their holomatter art: (https://blog.jnwiedle.com/post/162449559987/2-dads-who-love-and-respect-each-other) their megatron is Beefy, and his outfit is very exshellent, it’s seariously a shame mer-people don’t reely need clothes...

Minimus Ambus was alone.

At the end of the day he usually hung back to do one last sweep of the beach. His loneliness was in part due to the weather that day - it had been windy. An onshore breeze: with cold and choppy water. The harsh wind sapped all moisture. On a day like today potential beach goers stayed home.

A less meticulous person would have left.

A less meticulous person wouldn’t have seen the shark.

But _Minimus_ took his job as a surf lifeguard very seriously. He took everything very seriously.

Minimus narrowed his eyes against the sheets of blown sand, and scanned the beach one last time for surfers, swimmers, hazards. There was no-one else in sight. The barren sand - still baked in the day’s heat - stretched away to either side. It actually put Minimus in mind of a desert. That's how he saw the silhouette out past the breakers: someone out on the late afternoon ocean, on the red water. 

He didn’t think it was a shark, at first. He thought it was a swimmer. He ran back for one of the bulky yellow rescue boards and paddled out.

“Excuse me!” Minimus said once he was within speaking range. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, quite fine.”

“Oh. Very well. Er, I don’t mean to alarm you,” Minimus said dryly. “But you may want to come in. Didn’t you see the sign?”

“I did not see the sign.” The swimmer said, dully factual. “Why should I be alarmed?”

“Sharks.”

“Please elaborate.”

“Gladly - to minimise the risk of encountering a shark, it is wise to avoid swimming at dawn and dusk.”

For the first time, the swimmer smiled, and Minimus glimpsed a flash of sharp canine. “Ah? You’re not doing very well then, are you?”

“-You!” He bristled with irritation. “I’m a lifeguard. I’m doing one last sweep of the beach, for your information.”

“Very conscientious. But it’s just us here, I can assure you.”

Minimus was faintly embarrassed by the praise.

For the first time he was struck by the size of the man. He hadn’t noticed, being out of the water, but - how big _was_ he, compared to Minimus? Huge. His bare shoulders were solid. He had a neat silver beard, cropped silver hair, and silver chest hair - Minimus jerked his gaze away. He felt suddenly self-conscious of his own full-body wetsuit, green and white and unflattering.

A silver thing swished past underneath. 

Minimus blinked. 

“You’re a shark.” He said. He felt very foolish.

“Not technically. It would be more accurate to say I am _part_ shark. A great white, if you want to be precise.”

“I always want to be precise.”

“Likewise. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, my name is Megatron.”

The name was familiar, but Minimus decided not to ask if they’d met before. It was an introduction, not an interrogation.

“Minimus Ambus. In light of this fact - and I apologise for not noticing sooner - I am legally compelled to inform you of the main points of the mer-treaty: your rights and expectations...“

He ran off the legal spiel he had prepared for the mer-people he met at the beach. Mostly, mer-people cut him off at around the five minute mark, and asked for directions to the tropics. Megatron didn’t. He listened politely to the whole spiel without interrupting. He nodded, smiled in a fascinated manner, just as if-

“You already know this.”

“Not in such rigorous detail, but yes. Could you go back to that particularly interesting facet of the treaty, concerning fisheries?”

“Enormous, mer-protected shoals of marine agriculture? Er.” Minimus grimaced at the dimming light. “I’d be all to willing to go into greater detail... but we’d be here all night.”

“Ah. Poor visibility, changing tides-“

“-It wouldn’t be wise to stay.” Minimus finished. To say he was pleasantly surprised was an understatement. It had been a while since he’d met someone so perfectly on his wavelength. “I’m free tomorrow?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh not at all. I can drop by the fish market on my way, if you like.”

“Thank you for your attentiveness, Ambus, however-“ Megatron smiled, and the fangs were more prominent this time. “I can take care of myself.”

"...Call me Minimus."

"Minimus."

A subtle chill went down Minimus’ back. Whether it was the fast approaching night, or fear, he didn’t particularly mind the thrill. There would have been something wrong with him if he wasn’t a little cautious. This man was a stranger, after all. But as he waved goodbye and paddled back to shore he felt a strange pang of loss. It had been a while since he’d met someone so dull, so factual, so…

Minimus reflected on the conversation and winced. What a mess! He’d embarrassed himself utterly. Maybe it’d be best if Megatron did not return the next day.

 

* * *

 

Megatron returned the next day.

And the next.

Minimus hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d willingly talk for a long time. Not that Megatron considered it a problem. The open ocean was largely barren and desolate, and he’d swum for months at a time without encountering another person, let alone an engaging conversation. So Megatron was quite happy to float on his back in the ocean bath while the lifeguard went into great white detail.

Diplomacy, politics, finance. He knew it all, of course. But he’d forgotten. The facts had faded at the back of his mind, and they now flashed into glowing remembrance. Minimus was more than engaging: he was stimulating - almost overwhelmingly so.

“ _Officially_ the mer-people are respected as a nation for their contributions to the fishing industry.” Minimus went on, in a comforting sustained drone. “They manage sixty eight per cent of the world’s most successful fisheries, and eighty per cent of all extant fisheries. In particular their diplomatic work in wildlife protection is invaluable, and without them, the krill population would be half of its’ current size...”

“Yawn!”

Megatron and Minimus regarded the approaching Rodimus with perfectly synchronised exasperation.

“Did you just _say_ the word ‘yawn’?” Megatron asked, dryly.

“No.” Rodimus said, just to be obstinate.

Hand on elbow, and thoughtfully rubbing his chin, Minimus frowned. “Is this _flippancy_ wise, Rodimus?”

"Ughhh." Rodimus moaned. "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die of boredom."

"You would gain a lot from learning how the world functions."

Rodimus screwed up his face in pain. "But I'd never get back those long, long hours of my life. Please, Minimus, it's summer! Chill."

"I didn't realise learningwas restricted to winter."

"Well, it is. I don't need to know how the world works! I'm here for fun, drama, excitement!”

“Yes, I know.” Minimus said, in a voice so dry it was practically drought-stricken.

"Besides whenever you give me a lecture on how the world works, you always act like it's pervasively unjust and awful-"

“You said  _officially_.” Megatron interrupted. “Unofficially?”

Minimus smiled in faint surprise, pleased that Megatron had picked up on his wording. “Yes. Unofficially, and more accurately, the sheer number of mer-person ‘off-shore’ bank accounts make it easy for illegitimate accounts to go unnoticed. There are suspicions of embezzlement on a national scale. On the bright side; because their existence is so thoroughly tied to the criminal financial world, anything threatening the freedom of mer-people is quickly eliminated…”

"Aghhh." Rodimus said. "I care about you Minimus. And because I care about you, I want you to know I zoned out for all that."

"Why are you here, Rodimus?"

"To bring joy, fun and happiness to your lives." 

"And?"

"To ask if I can go surfing? Please? I've done all my paperwork."

“Are Velocity and Riptide still at the flags?”

“Yeah, they’ve got things sorted.”

“Make sure you stay in the specified areas of the beach.”

“ _Minimus.”_

“Oh, go on then. Stay safe.”

Instead of walking back along the concrete wall, as was _safer_ , Rodimus let himself down onto the adjoining rock pools and picked his way over to the sand.

His board already stood upright in the shallows - a lurid, flame coated design, which matched his tattoos - and Drift sat in the surf beside it. He was a mako shark. _Part_ mako, technically: with a maximum speed of seventy kilometres an hour, and a pair of beloved bone swords. Back in his old life Megatron had known him as Deadlock, and at the time had admired his viciousness. It seemed they’d both moved onto better things.

“Is a surfing festival coming up?” Megatron asked.

Minimus dourly watched Rodimus paddle out into the waves. “If there is, he’ll tell me at the last minute.”

“He and Drift seem to be good friends.”

Minimus’ melancholy receded. “More than friends, I think. I don’t want to inquire outright…”

“Oh of course not.” Megatron was so adverse to the idea that he propelled himself backward, as if to swim away from it. “If he wants to talk about it, it’s all very well-“

“-but to ask would be embarrassing for both of us, yes. I’m glad we’re in agreement on this.”

“Absolute agreement. I cannot imagine that conversation.”

“I don’t _want_ to imagine that conversation.” Minimus said, stiffly.

Megatron chuckled. He so rarely laughed: this was the Megatron equivalent of a hearty guffaw. Minimus smiled faintly at the sound. This was the Minimus equivalent of a wide grin. They both expressed their happiness in a reserved and muted manner - but that did not lessen its value. It was smiles like this that kept Megatron coming back day after day.

With an idle flick of his tail he was at the side of the calm ocean bath. Minimus sat with his shins in the water, and Megatron put his arms up on the searing concrete next to him. It was a hot day. The other man was wearing his sun-safe, full body wetsuit. Perhaps that could account for the slight flush to his cheeks? Megatron hoped it wasn’t sunburn. Humans scorched so easily.

“Did you bring that book?” Megatron asked.

“Oh, yes. Here.”

“Hmm. If this isn’t too personal a question, why do you own a waterproof copy of ‘The Collected Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley’?”

“I…I like to read in the bath.” Minimus admitted sheepishly.

Megatron thanked him as he took the offered book of poetry. Most mer-people enjoyed reading. And with a significant demand for them, water-proof books were not an insignificant commodity.

But it was pretty hard to cart around a bulky stack of novels through the empty, barren expanses of the open ocean: and so there were any number of soggy libraries tucked away around the globe. Megatron had visited quite a couple in his time.

He rolled back in the water to float on his back, held the book above his head, flipped through.

“‘Ozymandias’?”

“Oh, yes please.”

_“I met a traveller from an antique land_

_Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone_

_Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand,_

_Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,_

_And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,_

_Tell that its sculptor well those passions read…”_

Megatron was familiar with the concept of a desert, thanks to books. Even though he’d never seen one, and could barely comprehend the physicality of it, he understood the concept. A desert was barren. Empty. Lonely. The open ocean was not unlike a desert, in that respect. They were both very desolate places.

_“…’My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:_

_Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’”_

A lump in his throat choked him momentarily. Megatron coughed self-consciously and continued.

_“Nothing beside remains. Round the decay_

_Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare_

_The lone and level sands stretch far away.”_

 

* * *

 

Minimus thought about Dominus every day.

They hadn’t been on the best of terms, but he still felt the loss of his brother keenly, and every day he tried to guess what Dominus would think. It was an old guessing game. They’d been distant even when Dominus had been alive. ‘What would you think of me, being a soldier?’ he’d wondered back then. And when Dominus was gone: ‘What would you think of me, getting injured?’ then, later again in his life ‘What would you think of me, being a lifeguard?’. Death was just a greater distance. It was just harder to guess.

"Confirmed bachelor."

"Is it... a rich person?"

"Not exclusively."

Minimus had mentioned how he felt to Megatron in a moment of weakness. Megatron had noted it calmly. “He’s proud of you,” was all he’d said.

Perhaps it should have bothered him that Megatron had used the present tense in his platitude. Not 'he  _would be_ proud of you' - 'he  _is_ proud of you'. But it didn’t bother him. It left him feeling a strange mixture of sadness and peace, which Minimus, being emotionally stunted, was unable to recognise as acceptance.

"Er... roommates?"

"Close."

But then he confirmed where he’d heard of Megatron before. _That_ bothered him.

"A _bro_ -?"

"Drift, as much as I enjoy our 'euphemism trivia', I wanted to ask you something."

He and Drift sat out in the deep shallows, watching the beach. Minimus enjoyed his job immensely. Keeping an eye on the weather, tediously scanning for hazards - it was very stimulating. And Megatron wasn’t anywhere nearby, which was why Minimus had chosen this moment to ask-

“Yes, he’s _that_ Megatron.” Drift informed Minimus.

Whenever anyone asked Drift about his past, he twitched, as if the memories hurt.

“Could you confirm the accuracy of his alleged crimes?” Minimus asked: unable to identify Drift’s discomfort.

Drift flinched. “Yes. The stories are uh - accurate.” And sharply, he changed the subject. “Say, Minimus, your energy vibrations seem pretty heavy, dude.”

“Don't call me 'dude'.” Minimus ordered coldly. Then, self-conscious, he checked the way his board was sitting in the water. “And I’m not heavy.”

“No, no - your _energy._ You seem low.”

“I haven't had a good night's rest in twenty years. Is that what you’re referring to?”

“You know, we have the power to let love and light flow through us.“ Drift said, with complete seriousness.

“We... what?”

Bemused, Minimus stiffly went back to supervising the swimmers between the red and yellow flags.

Drift circled him idly, recommending New Age exercises and philosophies. Minimus automatically nodded where appropriate, and said ‘hmm, interesting’ when Drift paused for breath. He was conflicted.

He knew the stories, of course. The depths of the ocean were inpenetrable, but bad news like Megatron still made it to the surface. He’d been a king, of a sort, and a tyrant. ‘ _Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!_ ’ He’d built an empire on a flawed philosophy, and thankfully, he’d lost. They were apparently still rebuilding the wreckage.

Minimus didn’t know where this left _him,_ though. He was very conflicted.

He didn’t want to accept that someone so _manifestly immoral_ could understand grief - because where was Megatron’s grief for those he’d wronged? 

But doubt whispered.

Underneath the voices of reason, doubt said - Megatron had never tried to hide his past. It was hard: having it confirmed; but Minimus had _known._  He'd seen his repentance. In moments of weakness, Megatron had admitted his guilt - the aching weight of his history - and Minimus had noted it calmly.

He’d seen a soul thick with remorse, regret, grief. He’d _empathised._

“Megatron…” Minimus said.

Drift pre-emptively twitched. “What about him?”

“Was there a trial?”

“Exile.” Drift snapped. “His verdict. He is restricted to shallow water.”

“I see.” Minimus said, blankly, without any inflection whatsoever. “If indeed he is _that_ Megatron, he probably deserves far worse.”

 _Megatron_ would have picked up on his wording.

Megatron would have paused, given him an equally blank look, and said “‘ _Probably?_ ’”

Drift didn’t. And later, when Rodimus joined them, he didn’t either.

"Sup, bro. Is this the Megatron trash-talk committee?"

"Bro! That reminds me - what's a _confirmed_ _bachelor?"_

Rodimus sighed. "Is this that euphemism game again? Why? What's the appeal?"

"It's educational." Minimus said.

"Some of them are really ridiculous." Drift said. 

"Right well - Megatron, okay? He is such a-"

"He’s not that bad once you get to know him.” Minimus interrupted sternly, and then sighed. “That’s the issue.”

“Hmm.” Rodimus, unlike Minimus, could see when someone was unhappy. He folded his arms. “Dunno.” He said, offhand. “It could be a trick.”

“I didn’t get that impression.”

“Please, people can’t change. He’s evil. He’ll always be evil. End of story.”

“Rodimus the world is _not_ that simple.”

“You know I bet we’re all just pawns in his nefarious plot - no, his scheme! If you’re evil, it’s a scheme.”

“I - what? - no. Evil? No! If someone desperately yearns to be given the chance to change, to make amends, how can we just dismiss it as a _scheme?_ I’m not saying we _ignore_ his crimes. But he is suffering for them. He’s been exiled. Death _cannot_ be the only path to redemption.”

Minimus finished, breathing hard and scowling.

He noticed Rodimus was grinning to himself for some reason.

“Sure.” He shrugged noncommittally. “If you say so, Minimus. Feeling better?”

“I… am, actually. Hmm.”

“Cool. Let’s catch the next wave back in, yeah? I want hot chips for lunch. Your shout, I reckon.”

Still adrift and mystified, Minimus nodded unthinkingly. “Sure. Er - wait - hold on a moment!”

Rodimus wasted no time in paddling, standing up, and letting himself be carried away. He fell down the slope of the wave and Minimus heard him laugh. Slowly, fondly, Drift shook his head.

Minimus tut-tutted disapprovingly. With such a ‘devil-may-care’ attitude, you wouldn’t assume so: but Rodimus was actually very bright - and really, it was a shame he never seemed to use it for anything _beneficial_.

 

* * *

 

 “Did you say something to Minimus?” Megatron asked Rodimus, the next time they ran into each other.

“Yeah it’s called friendship? Don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but it’s when two people say stuff to each other?”

“He’s… softened. Around me.”

“Ew. Weird.”

“I certainly thought so. You wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would you?”

“I might have talked him into buying me hot chips - does that count?”

“Never mind.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

 

“George Seferis, ‘ _Summer Solstice_ ’, stanza eleven.”

“Go on then.”

The beach was cold at night.

For this, a fire was useful. However, driftwood fires were prohibited on their usual beach, and so Minimus and Megatron had travelled to a cove half an hour down the coast.

By land the cove was only accessible via fifteen minute hike through thick greenery. So, despite the relatively warm summer night, they had the place to themselves. It was a long way to go for a late night conversation. For that most valuable commodity known as ‘privacy’ however, it wasn’t far at all.

“ _…Sea breeze from the pines and the Mount of Aeghina,_

_Panting breath;_

_Your skin slippery on hers,_

_Easy and warm;_

_Thought almost half-formed and at once forgotten_ …”

And with the added privacy, they were able to recite more… erotic poetry. Purely for the intellectual pleasure of it, of course. It wasn’t either Minimus or Megatron’s fault that Rodimus got so squeamish about it, when they tried to do so on the day-lit beach.

“ _But in the shallows_

_A speared octopus pulsed out its ink,_

_And in the depths—_

_If you could think where the beautiful islands end._

_I watched you with all the light and darkness I have_.”

Minimus sighed at such an exquisitely phrased last line. To savour it Megatron closed his eyes, then closed the book and placed it on the sand between them. ‘ _Shhh’_ said the waves. They crowded the shore with tiny ripples.

Even with a campfire, Minimus was still cold, and the damp towel tucked tight around his shoulders helped only a little. He’d deliberately built the fire next to the rock-pools so as to be able to talk to Megatron. The shark - _part_ shark, technically - had come up with the high tide, and had allowed himself to be stranded in a shallow pool as it retreated. It was a lot of effort just to have a conversation. Neither of them considered it so.

“What does it feel like,” Minimus asked. “To not suffocate or freeze at the bottom of the ocean?”

Megatron gently pushed a crab out of the way to lie back on a convenient rock. “It depends how deep: but the pressure is incredibly strong. Incredibly cold.”

“An obvious answer, I suppose.”

“Some answers are. It’s still worth asking.”

“In that case: what are the scavenging laws concerning ship-wrecks?”

“An excellent question…”

They had all night, but Minimus had a lot of questions. What was mer-people procedure concerning wildlife documentary crews? Was it true that mer-people saved drowning sailors?

How big was the average mer (say, Megatron, for example) in comparison to the average human (say, Minimus)?

In the flickering red firelight, Megatron’s arms sparkled with tiny diamond salt flakes. They were swimmer’s arms: firm and well-muscled. As soon as he realised he was looking, Minimus averted his gaze. He felt a little less chilly.

“Most of the ocean is a biological desert.” Megatron’s canines were sharp, a little. They flashed as he spoke. “You can swim alone for days and days, and mers don’t get lonely like humans do, but the emotion is certainly familiar. The most interesting thing is usually the stars… Ha. That’s the good thing about the utter isolation. No light pollution.”

Minimus imagined this. Looking up at the stars, miles from any close company, night after night with no company but his own heavy thoughts… it was a vivid image, and it rung close to home, for Minimus didn’t sleep well. He empathised so hard it hurt.

The fire between them flickered with something. Neither knew how to put it into words, and so the moment passed with a snap of burning driftwood.

Minimus really needed to get a better wetsuit.

His green and white one was sufficient, yes, and offered a certain mental security. But lately the thick neoprene felt less protective, and more restricting. It was _armour,_ of a sort. And maybe Minimus had diminished, or grown, but it just didn’t seem to fit right anymore.

“I… understand. I am a solitary individual.” Minimus confessed eventually. He said it as if hoping not to be heard.

There was no such luck. Megatron turned on his side to regard Minimus calmly, and waited. Without looking - as if by not looking, it wasn’t happening - Minimus poured his secrets out onto the beach. Vulnerabilities, insecurities. Megatron answered with intelligence and recognition. And then he confessed having similar thoughts, which Minimus would never admit comforted him greatly.

“I was a soldier. ‘ _Ultra Magnus_ ’.” Minimus said, miserably. “I was very good at it. Very good. I gave the best of my years to Tyrest - and, well - he turned out to be mad, you know, so…”

Minimus trailed off uncharacteristically.

“…you feel like you’ve made a colossal mistake of your life.” Megatron finished.

“Yes. And worse, I cannot even say it was _my_ mistake.” Minimus fixed his gaze on the distant stars to avoid any kind of meaningful eye contact. “I was injured. I was sent home.”

‘ _It was an intense relief’_ he didn’t say, but he didn’t need to. A wretched glance at Megatron showed only heartfelt understanding in the other man’s expression. Minimus relaxed further. ‘ _Shh_ ’ said the small wavelets in the moonlight, eternally soothing. ‘ _Shhh’._

"You know Megatron, in all my life, I've never found anyone like you."

"Is that an insult?"

"A compliment. Your values mirror my own in a way I, frankly, find a relief. I never need to explain myself twice."

"Surely I am not the first. Surely a man as dignified as you has been _understood_ by others?" 

"No." Minimus said, bleakly. "I never sought out understanding."

"Me neither. But I desired it nonetheless."

Minimus found himself nodding despondently. "Yes. Yes I do believe that's true of me as well. I wanted... well, _this_. Or something like it."

"A relationship built upon mutual values and understanding?"

" _Exactly._ Truly, with you, I never need to explain myself twice."

But they hadn’t come all the way out here to be maudlin at each other. They’d come for intellectual conversation. Privacy.

Minimus shivered - the campfire was extremely inefficient. He shuffled forward until he was at the absolute _minimum_ safe distance. If he sat any closer to the fire, he would actually be on top of it.

“Did you know great whites prefer water between twelve and twenty four degrees celsius?” Megatron offered, to clear the air. “That’s fifty four and seventy five degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Humans are most comfortable at eighteen degrees celsius, sixty four degrees Fahrenheit - that is, when they are appropriately dressed.” Minimus added, in a sullen undertone.

“How cold is it now?”

“Probably no more than fifteen degrees celsius. But with the wind chill…”

“…And the wet sand - yes I see. Hmm. Well, did you know that great white sharks are endothermic?”

“You’re ‘warm-blooded’.”

“I can raise my temperature about fifteen degrees higher than the surrounding water.”

“Hmm.”

“You sound sceptical.”

“I have some _minor_ doubts…”

“If you like, you might sit leaned against my side? You would be able to feel the difference in temperature.”

Megatron sat pressed to the edge of the rock-pool rim, and Minimus shuffled up, and sat pressed to Megatron. If later, someone were to ask him about this - not that anyone would ever know -he might say ‘ _I was just sceptical_ ’; or ‘ _I didn’t want to be rude, and refuse_ ’; or ‘ _it was only his side, only his shoulder, friends can sit compact against each other and I only enjoyed it because I was cold’._

But it wasn’t _that_ cold. They sat cradled by rocks, and the fire popped and spat at them, laughing. They were still for so long that a crab bravely investigated the fire, and then ran away. The little crustaceans ran back and forth on the cool blue sand and were buffeted by the incoming waves. Minimus slowly grew warmer.

He’d changed - but had he diminished, or grown?

He still didn’t know.

“Shiro Murano, ‘ _Diving_ ’.”

“...Go on, then.”

Megatron had picked up the poetry book. Oh dear. Minimus _really_ didn’t know how he’d take erotic poetry, right now. But he could hardly refuse without explaining why, and all told, it could have been worse. Megatron had chosen a poem about a bee, for heavens sake.

“ _The dress of clouds opens like a flower._

_The reflection of water_

_Prints the stripes on your bare body…”_

The words were soft beside his ear. Megatron was close and therefore, did not need to project as much. What came across was that this was something very intimate. Very private. That he was speaking for Minimus alone…

Minimus put a hand to his mouth and pressed down hard, _hard_ , not knowing what expression he might make if he let himself go.

“ _Soon, from behind the petal of the flower_

_You come out_

_Drenched through and through_

_With sweetness.”_

The end of the poem was punctuated by the snap and release of steam from the wet driftwood, burning. The surf let out a long sigh. Minimus strangely, almost thought he felt Megatron regarding him slightly - but when he checked, Megatron was only admiring the far curve of the beach.

“Beautiful.” He said.

It really was a lovely view. But Minimus just nodded in acknowledgement and closed his eyes, preferring to savour the warmth.

 

* * *

 

 

The swell was too high for sensible people to go swimming.

Rodimus of course, could hardly be called sensible.

What was it? The rush of danger, the thrill of adrenaline? What drove him to go _surfing_ in that washing machine water? Skydiving would have been safer. And knowing Rodimus, he’d be interested in _that_ sport too, if he’d had the funds.

At least _Minimus_ was sensible. He stood, fully clothed and dry - he’d angled his umbrella into the wind to keep most of the rain off - and watched Rodimus from the jetty. He radiated deep annoyance. There were no boats tied to the concrete pillars: they’d all been taken into the safety of the harbour.

“He doesn’t listen to me.” Minimus complained bitterly.

“Drift’s keeping an eye-” Megatron started out, then had to duck as a large wave crashed over his head.

“I tell him.” Minimus said, as he surfaced. “‘There are safer ways to ride big waves’ I tell him. He doesn’t listen to me.”

Megatron rarely saw Minimus in his day-to-day clothes. He wore a green button-up with a high collar under a white vest, and his usual white turban. His trousers were of a good material. They seemed to be getting soaked by the sea-spray, but worried, Minimus either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I’ll go get him.” Megatron offered.

“Would you?”

Megatron dived, his second eyelids reflexively sliding into place. With a powerful flick of his tail he sped out underneath the waves to where Rodimus was sitting, waiting for a good wave. Drift was keeping an eye on him from below the surface. There, it was relatively safer - provided you had gills.

“Oh hey, Megatron.” Drift said, awkwardly. “What’s up?”

“You and I are going out, deeper, and Rodimus is coming in.”

“Come on, it’s not _that_ bad.”

As if the sea itself had understood him - and wished to express a sense of irony - the undertow of a powerful wave tugged them both to the surface. Megatron gave Drift a serious look.

“Hey Roddy?” Drift said. “How about we finish up, okay?”

“One more good one.”

“You said that three good ones ago!”

“Rodimus, Minimus wants you to come in, right now. This is too rough.” Megatron ordered sternly.

A large wave punctuated his point. Rodimus nearly fell off his board.

“Ugh! _Fine!”_

“Megatron-“ Drift asked hesitantly. “-Do you and I _have_ to go deeper, though?”

Still petulant, Rodimus inflated defensively - like a frog - and jumped on the chance to object.

“No, Drift, you can just swim up into the ocean baths with me.”

“The swell is too high.”

“Don’t listen to Megatron, Drift. We’re _going in_ and that’s _final_.”

For mer-people, when storms came, the safest place to be was out to sea. The shallows were dangerous. Rocks could crush, reefs could cut a fish to ribbons, and the tall walls of malicious water could beach even the greatest white sharks.

Thankfully this storm was small, as they came. Barely a squall. The white spray slapped uselessly at the sides of the ocean bath, and Drift and Rodimus floundered around in perfect safety: as Megatron had intended all along, of course. Minimus crossed over and squatted on his heels.

“What did you tell him?”

“I said you wanted him in, immediately.”

“And he _listened_? You’re very convincing.”

“Thank you.”

Minimus frowned as the wind changed, and he was compelled to re-adjust his umbrella.

“Minimus.” Rodimus swum over. “Minimus. You’re krilling me. Why are you wearing _boots,_ on the _beach_?”

It was a two hit combo. He winced once at ‘ _krilling_ ’ and again at the insult to his fashion choices.

“I am dressed appropriately for someone who _isn’t_ going swimming. And you know how I feel about mangled wordplay.”

“You think it’s a pile of carp.”

“Rodimus!”

“It’s all right, Minimus.” Drift said, soothingly, ever the peacemaker. “He’s just baiting you.”

Rodimus and Drift hi-fived. Minimus groaned.

“How about you, Bruce? Want to mussel in on this?”

Megatron was about to say ‘enough’ but paused. He turned aside to Minimus. “‘Bruce’?”

“A shark from Finding Nemo.” The man explained, long-suffering.

“Ah.”

This minor aside was enough for Rodimus and Drift to become distracted - their attention span was limited, as Megatron knew very well - and they floated away, still spouting fish puns back and forth at each other. Minimus looked after them in fond relief. The rain took advantage of his momentary weakness to sneak under his umbrella.

“Are you-“ Minimus spluttered. “-Going to be all right?”

“Yes, quite fine.”

“Er, I don’t mean to alarm you, but this is only the first in a long chain of storms.”

“I know.”

“Conditions will worsen. At the end of it, this pool will not be safe. I could…”

“It’s all right.”

The conditions of Megatron’s exile had restricted him to shallow water. It seemed a lenient sentence, yes: but unable to flee to the deeps, unable to get to safety, it would only take one good hurricane to finish Megatron off. And he could feel something - that final storm - coming in the water. It probably wasn’t a hurricane. Probably.

“Ah. Very well then.” Minimus said, morose. He folded his arms over his knees and looked out to sea miserably.

Megatron floated silently for a moment. The rain pattered on Minimus’ umbrella.

“What did you have in mind?”

Minimus smiled in fond relief. “Did you know it’s possible to hire _portable tanks_?”

The rain saw its chance. A spray of wet drops buffeted Minimus directly across the cheek, and he spluttered. Rodimus and Drift splashed back over, laughing at their latest horrible pun. Minimus had to stand up quickly to avoid getting even wetter.

“Whale, whale, whale.” Rodimus said. “What have we here?”

“Ugh.”

“You know you cod do better.”

“Rodimus…”

“Come on, just one? And I’ll leave you alone.”

Minimus thought very deeply for a long time. Megatron died of old age. Climate change caused the oceans to rise and cover the earth, and human civilisation crumbled. Mer-people took over their drowned cities, and fish lived in the flooded apartments of their high-rise skyscrapers.

Minimus cleared his throat.

“To be a sustainable business, a good fishery needs… a good ‘net’ income.”

Only Megatron laughed. Slowly, without changing expression, Rodimus sunk underwater and pretended to drown.

 

* * *

 

Minimus stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to wonder if he'd locked the door. He had. He kept walking.

Conditions worsened over the week. Indeed, it looked like the last storm was shaping up to be a ship-killer. Minimus met very few mer-people out in the water that last week. They'd all left for deeper - safer - water.

Drift had left for Rodimus' pool. Apparently they had a weekend planned.

Minimus stopped. The path down to the beach was pitted with bottlecaps, rubbish, driftwood. He wondered if he should clean it up. But no - with the oncoming storm, it would only get bad again afterwards. He kept going down the path: over the sand-swallowed planks of wood and between the grassy dunes.

His heart was thumping. The sky was strange. His wetsuit felt - too tight, too loose. Had he diminished, or grown?

Minimus kept on over the deserted sand, and met Megatron down at the waters edge. He sat beside him in the shallows.

"I have organised a portable tank." Minimus said. He didn't look at the other man. He kept his gaze firmly on the pale evening sky. The horizon was the colour of white sheets that had been accidentally washed with something pink. 

"Thank you." Megatron said. He was looking at the beach. The lone and level sands stretched far away.

Minimus could _hear his pulse_ \- why, _why_ was this so nerve-wracking? He'd had a thousand easy conversations with Megatron. What made this one different?

To establish some resemblance of normalcy, he cleared his throat. "You'd think, at a time like this, people would respect the rules of the beach."

Megatron sighed, relieved - perhaps he had felt the strange tension too. "You'd think." He agreed. "What was it this time?"

"The rock pools. Even in this weather, people will _insist_ on climbing them. It's forbidden! The signs are clearly posted!"

Megatron shuddered. He, like Minimus, could imagine how easily a person might slip. And how hard, how painfully hard, they would find trying to get back to safety. He, like Minimus, had seen the bodies. A lifeguard's work was not all sunny beaches and swimsuits.

Minimus looked at Megatron for the first time that evening. And for the first time, he didn't know what to say. A question was welling up inside him; a question he didn't have the words for.

"I look forward to this weekend." Megatron said.

"Yes, one always tends to look forward to _not_ dying."

Megatron chuckled at the dry statement. "I meant with you." 

Minimus' breath caught. Within the space of a wave crashing, and retreating, something changed inside him. Something gave way.

"Yes." He agreed. "I am also looking forward to it."

"Good. I'm glad the feeling is mutual."

"The feeling is indeed mutual. It's good to have that certainty out in the open."

"Agreed."

Minimus took the plunge, and put a hand exactly halfway between where both of them were sitting. Megatron took it.

They clutched each other tightly where the ocean met the land.

Megatron squeezed. Minimus returned the pressure.

"Er, this is somewhat unrelated, but what  _is_ a ' _confirmed bachelor_ '? Drift was asking me the other day."

It wasn't the question Minimus had been expecting, and he laughed aloud. "Oh, that. It's a euphemism."

"For?"

"A man who never married - it refers often to a man whose interest was in other men _."_

"Ohh."

"Yes, quite. It's a description that has served me for most of my life."

Megatron picked up on his wording.

Megatron paused, gave him a blank look, and said, “‘ _Most of_ your life _?_ ’”

Warmth overflowed in Minimus' eyes. He tilted his head to look sideways up at Megatron, and smiled. "My life isn't over. With your help, I might yet want to change the first part of that definition."

Megatron's breath caught. 

It wasn't the most _straightforward_ way of telling someone 'you're the sort of person I might one day want to marry'. But got the message across, so who was Minimus to say it wasn't ineffectual? Megatron understood. That's what mattered. Of course - Megatron had always understood. Minimus never needed to explain something twice.

Megatron's face crumpled with some strange intensity of emotion - his eyes were wet, too.

"The feeling is mutual." Megatron said.

"Good." Minimus said. "I'm glad the feeling is mutual."

Megatron gave a half-sob, half-laugh, and leant in.

Minimus kissed him thoroughly.

Megatron raised a hand to cup his cheek, to tenderly hold him close. How lucky they were to have this moment! In the grand scheme of possibility; in such a pervasively unjust and awful universe; there could have been so much more separating them. But no. Here, it was as insubstantial a thing as  _geography._ That was easily overcome.

Panting breath; skin slippery on his, easy and warm.

Minimus sighed at the exquisite warmth of the kiss. He savoured it a moment more, and then they drew apart. 

"I love you." Megatron breathed.

"I love you as well." Minimus answered, and it didn't feel strange at all. It felt natural.

He smiled. Megatron smiled back at him - soft, restrained. But it was smiles like this that kept Minimus coming back day after day. It was this muted joy that Minimus considered beautiful, and it was no less precious for being  _inexpressive_. 

On the weekend, the storm would come. The waves would rise high with malice, and the ships would come into harbour, and the winds would whip the shore to shreds. Dead seaweed and dead fish would litter the beaches - but Megatron would not be among them. 

And after the weekend, they would still be here, and alive. Minimus shuffled over to sit pressed compact against Megatron's side.‘ _Shh’_ said the comforting waves, a soothing background drone. ' _Shhh_ '. Here - despite the empty beach and the choppy water - it was impossible to feel desolate. 

"If I may ask," Megatron said, after a while. "How does a merperson go about becoming a lifeguard?"

"Well! It's something of a convoluted process." Minimus said, adoringly. "Lots of paperwork."

"I suppose it also differs according to geography?"

"Of course."

"Then allow me to rephrase my question. How would _I_ go about becoming a lifeguard?"

Minimus, with great enjoyment, began to explain.

They had the whole of the evening ahead of them, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might do another chap w nsfw??? but this checks as an ending so im happy to leave it for now lol
> 
> also fluff?? who is she??? apparently i need ten thousand words of worldbuilding before i even CONSIDER getting them together lolol... idk i just like getting into the boring practicality of how a mer-world might work. im like minimus in that respect. but like, as a reader i relate to rodimus.... sometimes i just want fun lol!!!
> 
> ah, and i had fun w this. thanks for reading, and happy mer-may!!!!!!


	2. imperfect attempts at honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you take forever to get around to writing the cliche nsfw chapter, and it ends up being six thousand words longer than you were expecting it to be, and you spend Way Too Long rewriting it into perfection
> 
> i still think it's not perfect
> 
> but aw hell. what is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poems used: 'this above all is precious and remarkable' by john wain, and 'en route stockholm to helsinki' from john bennett's freshwater/saltwater sonnets. you can read more of john bennett's poetry here: http://photovoltaicpoetry.com.au/poems/

The ocean was a common theme in poetry, often as a metaphor for love, and yet somehow mer-human relationships were still risqué.

But that didn’t stop the three-dollar novellas.

The world could fall to fire or flood, and people would still write trashy romance.

Minimus had flicked through his fair share of pulpy nonsense about pirates, kidnappings, forbidden trysts, and star-crossed desires. (Not that he’d ever admit _liking_ such literature. It was research. That was all.)

And the one thing the stories enthusiastically proved, over and over again, was that intimacy - proper or not - was entirely possible between men and mer.

Intimacy. Of the romantic kind. Ahem, ahem.

There were places, spoken of in polite euphemisms and meaningful coughs, that facilitated such intimate meetings. Places where cross-species pairs could conceivably… live together. Beachside cities had aquarium hotels, which were expensive, and beachside towns had cabins, which _weren't_ , and so Minimus and Megatron lived in the latter except for when a hurricane hit. Unless you liked being broken into a million little splinters, it wasn’t fun to be beside the beach when a hurricane hit.

"Where are you staying during the upcoming storms?" Minimus asked Drift, when they were on guard. "With Rodimus...?"

"Oh, yeah." Drift floated on his back lazily. "Always."

"As long as you're safe."

Out past the breakers, Minimus sat on his board and kept a careful eye on the beach. Drift swum slow circles around him.

"Alright, hit me." Drift said. "Funny euphemism."

Minimus ignored the first request. Even if asked to, he didn't want to hit Drift. "If two people are 'intimate'...?" 

"Copulation." Drift waggled his eyebrows. "That's a pretty banal way to say it. I'm sure there's funnier euphemisms."

"To have a connection? To be familiar? To understand each other?"

" _Funny,_  I said." 

Minimus sighed, long-sufferingly. "In Grose's ' _A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_ ', he refers to the act as 'buttock ball'."

Drift sunk underwater, but Minimus still heard him laughing.

 

* * *

 

"You two doing anything for the storms?" Rodimus asked. "Velocity and Riptide say they can do boat patrols, but other than that the beach will be closed off."

"It's not a  _holiday."_ Megatron said, peeved.

"Sure it's not. So? Anything planned?"

Megatron regarded the personal question with enough bitter saltiness for an entire ocean. Rodimus clammed up.

"That child," Megatron eventually said, frowning at the shore, "Is swimming in a riptide."

"Where?"

"Just off the side of the flags. Look, she's about to - see? She's drifting to the side."

"She's gonna get pulled out." Rodimus, as the senior lifeguard, delegated to Megatron. " _You_ noticed. _You_ can swim up and tell her. But _be nice_."

"Nice." Megatron frowned, pondering the word. " _Nice..."_

Rodimus gave him a sidelong look. "It worries me that you're having trouble with the concept."

"No, nice. I can be nice. How's this?" Megatron affected an air of friendliness, and smiled. "Excuse me, but you're caught in a riptide."

"Ugh."

"What did I do wrong?"

"It might be the fangs, but you sound like you're about to murder the poor kid. Look, you're gonna have to learn how to do it eventually. Just swim up and tell her. And don't do - don't be - oh, nevermind. Just wing it."

As it turned out, Megatron didn't even need his practiced warning. Not wanting to startle the kid, he made sure to swim up beside her very quietly, and very slowly, and waited for her to notice him. As soon as she realised he was there, she went dead stiff, and she looked at him sidelong with white eyes. 

Megatron started, "You're swimming in a dangerous current."

"Right," the kid immediately said, and disappeared in the direction of the shore.

"What did I do wrong?" Megatron asked Rodimus, later.

Rodimus had been watching the train-wreck from a safe distance. He sucked in air through his teeth, "You were a bit..."

"What?"

"Look, how would you react if a three-metre guy came up behind you, dead quiet, and told you 'it's dangerous'?"

"Ah." Megatron frowned. He wasn't very good at ' _nice_ '.

"She may never go swimming again." Rodimus let out a stressed sigh. "We'll work on it. Why can't Minimus teach you, that's what I want to know."

"Because considering our personal relationship, it would be complicated if he were my direct advisor, and also because he thinks you're capable of handling greater responsibility-"

"Yeah, yeah, I wasn't actually asking." Rodimus was strangely red. "Er. Did he really say that?"

"Word for word."

Rodimus nodded thoughtfully for a long time, and finally, smirked. "Cool."

 

* * *

 

The ocean was a common metaphor for love, and for some couples this was an accurate comparison. Some couples seemed to drown in each other. Some relationships could be aptly compared to a barren bight, or a killer storm. 

But not for Minimus Ambus, and not for Megatron, thank you very much.

“Hello, Mr. Ambus, how can we help? With the dangerous weather coming up, we have a deal for if you live in affected zones…”

“Yes, that applies to us.” Minimus gave his address. “What are the terms and conditions?”

Minimus agreed to the deal, half-an-hour of legal debate later, and _only_ once he was satisfied he was fully informed. He always read the small-print.

It had been Rodimus' idea to try an aquarium hotel. “You two are so boring, I can't take it,” he had insisted, crudely, “If you have to wait out the storm, do it in a _pool_ , not a bloody fish-tank!” (It was true, Megatron's portable tank was a little small.) So, as Rodimus said, instead imagine pools of porcelain. Imagine bathrooms, more bath than room. Imagine futuristic, streamlined pipes, luxuriously melded into modern apartments. They couldn’t stay at a mer-hotel casually, it was too pricey. But if they could get it cheaper on a deal – why hesitate?

And anyway, what was the alternative? Host the merman in an - admittedly undignified - portable tank? Let Megatron try his luck in the lethal shallows? 

When a hurricane hit, the washing-machine ocean left trees and buildings strewn along the shoreline in shattered pieces. If Minimus walked along the beach post-storm he’d find debris flung up to unlikely heights. He’d duck under tree branches strung with seaweed, like pungent green tinsel.

It was no place for a merman: the hurricane sea.

And when Minimus imagined Megatron, strewn along the shoreline in shattered pieces-

No, thank you.

“Now, Mr. Ambus,” The long-suffering receptionist said, “What do you want? Would you prefer a room on the top floor?”

“No.”

“A balcony?”

“No.”

“One bed?”

“No - yes - what?”

“Sorry, just messing with you.”

Minimus was vaguely aware of aquarium hotels, but up until now had never stayed at one. Sometimes rich mer-people had business on land. Sometimes humans took their mer-friends on exotic holidays. But, on the whole, such places mostly catered to couples. It wasn’t the only option. But it was cheaper than hiring out a proper aquarium, fulfilled the same necessities, and had the added invaluable commodity of Privacy.

“We provide a perfectly comfortable environment for both mer and human guests.” The receptionist said. “So it isn’t necessary to pack swimmers.”

“Thank you for the information.”

“You can stay completely dry your entire stay.”

“Thank you for elaborating.”

“That is, of course, assuming that you _want_ to stay dry…?”

The receptionist coughed meaningfully. She seemed to be implying something, but over the phone, Minimus was unable to pick up on precisely what. He frowned. “My companion is the mer, if that’s what you mean.”

“ _Yes_ , but - you _are_ together, then…?”

“I am making the reservation on behalf of _both of us_ , under my name, Minimus Ambus.”

“Oh! _That_ Ambus? Like _Dominus_ Ambus? Right, sorry, sorry. Yes. Okay so a couples’ care package, that’s no problem at all; we’ll make the arrangements. Enjoy your stay!”

It had been Rodimus’ suggestion.

Usually Minimus put up Megatron in a tank, in a dingy motel bathroom. They’d weathered the weather that way before and while it wasn’t perfect, it was cheap and effective. What need was there to take the next step?

No, there was no need. But there was a difference between a 'need' and a _'want'_.

_What do you want, Mr. Ambus?_

Minimus wouldn't say.

He hardly ever got what he wanted. Better not to ask at all.

Yet he couldn't help the vague feeling that the receptionist had been trying to hint something, in polite coughs, in meaningful questions. He felt he was missing something, some small-print connotation of their stay. (Had the receptionist guessed at his well-hidden wants? Had she picked up on his more _intimate_ desires? No, surely not.) No, it was like those times when Rodimus rolled his eyes at their erotic poetry sessions, and told them to 'get a room'. It didn't mean anything.

And his suggestion they 'shack up' at a specifically mer-human hotel was only that: a nice suggestion.

Minimus felt lucky to have such good friends.

 

* * *

 

Megatron wasn’t alone.

The hotel had scattered little gifts around the rooms to improve their stay, and one such of these was a small incense burner, over which Minimus was fussing now. Megatron could see him in the next room: bending over slightly in order to light the end of the incense. The tight neoprene hugged the elastic arch of his bowed swimmers body, muscles coiled tight, as if he were about to dive. 

(Legs in general were a point of intrigue for Megatron, having none. But _Minimus’_ legs: even more so, for some reason.)

The flame flared, Minimus blew it out, and perfumed smoke rose in a pleasant plume. Megatron averted his gaze just as Minimus turned around.

“Enjoying the view?” Minimus asked, dourly.

Megatron nearly choked. “ _Pardon?”_

Minimus nodded at the far window. Megatron relaxed.

“Ah - yes. I was.”

All that was visible through the glass was a sheet of white.

“It’s really ‘coming down’.” Minimus said, quoting Rodimus.

“Indeed. I much prefer to watch it from in here.”

“I prefer to have you in here as well.”

Such sappy utterances exchanged, Minimus continued past into the single bedroom. Megatron heard the sound of him unzipping something and for a single wild moment thought it was the wetsuit. Only then did he remember the suitcase Minimus had brought with him, and the man’s predilection for unpacking and re-organisation.

“Whenever I stay at a motel,” Minimus had explained, in the past. “I always unpack the contents of my suitcase into the dressers and drawers.”

“Of course?” Megatron had replied. “What would the alternative be - rifle through your luggage every time you want something? Let your things get creased and messy?”

“It’s preposterous, but yes, that is the common approach.”

“Unbelievable.”

Naturally, there was another reason they’d never stayed in a place like this before.

Aquarium-hotels had certain… _romantic connotation_ s.

Ahem, ahem.

Minimus _had_ to be aware of it. Megatron certainly couldn’t put it from his mind. But he didn’t want to say anything outright in case Minimus had made the booking in perfect innocence, and so, flustered, he fumbled around the subject with all the grace of a fish out of water.

Megatron had already apologised profusely for imposing. He had insisted, as always, that he would have been safe enough in shallow water. It was a polite lie and Minimus knew it as such. And as always, he had politely rebuked Megatron for even considering it.

 _Didn’t he prefer this?_ Minimus always asked. And Megatron always answered, _Of course, yes_.

And then they both grew too flustered to speak, and both found something else to do for half-an-hour. Neither of them was built for overt seduction.

But they were staying at the mer-hotel for a week, to wait out the worst of the weather.

Which meant Megatron had another six nights to work out what Minimus wanted.

 

* * *

 

Night two, Megatron could hear Minimus singing quietly to himself in the other room.

To hear him better, he could have swum out to the bedroom via the pipes. But instead Megatron folded his arms on the side of the bath, put his head on them, and listened with heavy-lidded eyes to the indistinct lyrics. His shark-half drifted languidly from side to side in the shallow water. What a marvel! That Minimus trusted him enough to sing around him so casually, that Megatron had found himself here, that he’d met this man at all. Minimus finished crooning. The rain outside filled the fresh silence with applause.

The sound of Minimus’ voice approached:

“I was afraid you wouldn’t agree to stay. But if not killed-“

On the tiles nearby was a waterproof book of poetry. Megatron hastily grabbed it, and pretended to be reading.

“-you would have been severely ‘roughed up’ by the storm.” Minimus paused as he came in the door. He gave the book of collected poetry Megatron was holding a sombre look.

“Haven’t you read this one?” Megatron asked.

“Not upside down, no.” Minimus answered dryly.

Oh dear.

How could Megatron explain he’d been appreciating Minimus’ voice? How could he explain his sudden need to hide that appreciation, in case the other man became embarrassed? He thought very quickly:

“I was trying to get a new angle on some of my old favourites.”

“A new angle.”

“Yes.”

“Because it’s upside down.”

“Yes.”

“That is, without a doubt, the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” Minimus said, completely without humour.

Megatron relaxed. “Noted.” He casually turned the book the right way up, and cleared his throat. “Thank you for this.” He told the book.

“Pardon?”

“The room. Staying with me.”

“Your company is hardly unpleasant, Megatron. Besides, this hotel allows for both mer and human guests.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Still. I am grateful.”

With that, Minimus nodded acknowledgement – awkwardly, but sincerely -and crossed over to the corner cabinet. It was minimalist, squeezed up against the wall, and stacked high with waterproof books. He opened the bottom drawer and began to unpack and re-organise his toiletries inside.

“You know that I…” Minimus raised a toothbrush in contemplation, and addressed his next statement to it. “…Care for you. Deeply.”

“Likewise. In turn, if something were to happen to you, I would be distraught.”

Megatron became suddenly fascinated by his book, yet not a word penetrated his comprehension. Minimus found similar interest in packing his cabinet. Ah, the wonders of evasive purposefulness! When the moment became a bit too much, it was useful to take comfort in the solid ground of a secondary activity. Awkwardness? What awkwardness? Look at us, being busy. No overt admissions of emotionality _here_.

But if he hadn't been so embarrassed, Megatron might have admitted his feelings went deeper than gratitude.

He might have admitted - even without the storm raging outside - that Minimus felt like safe harbour. Calm water.

And that when Megatron imagined life without him-

'Distraught' would be putting it mildly.

Just before shutting the cabinet drawer on the conversation, Minimus gave something inside a second look. He pulled out a small package wrapped in red cellophane, with a golden ribbon curled in on itself around the neck, presenting the tube inside as a gift.

“Another present from the hotel?” Megatron asked. “What is it this time?”

Minimus peered at the label through the semi-sheer plastic. His eyes went wide. The package and bottle were thrust back inside so quickly that Megatron didn’t even see it: he just saw Minimus slam the cabinet door.

“…No idea.” Minimus said. He was bright red.

“Let me see.”

“Soap! It’s soap.”

“That was nice of them.”

“Yes, yes.” Minimus still looked rather ruffled. “Very considerate.”

Ah, he was such a bad liar. Megatron regarded him fondly, and went back to reading.

 

* * *

 

Reading. How did mer-people read?

More than a hundred metres down, the natural light levels became problematic. Reading in the dark wasn’t good for your eyes. 

Therefore, there were soggy, shallow libraries.

Polypropylene was the most common material waterproof books were printed on. It was more expensive than paper pages, yes, but mer-folk had no shortage of printing funds. This was because of embezzlement on a global scale: the multitude of offshore criminal accounts hidden in the sea-banks. It was horrible, corrupt, exploitive, and yet this dark underbelly actually protected the mer-people from capitalist expropriation. It wasn't very healthy to tamper with _corrupt political finances_. One might piss off a bigger fish.

Megatron had been familiar with the situation on a personal level. But thankfully, that wasn't his world anymore.

He’d been exiled to shallow water. He’d swum for years and years. Mer-people didn’t get lonely in the same way humans did, and yet, when Megatron had looked up at the stars, miles and miles from anyone who cared about him, night after night after night…

The word ‘loneliness’ was not a foreign one. Not anymore. And Minimus Ambus, who had spent years surrounded by close people at a distance, had ached in sympathy.

There’d been a flicker, there. A spark. A grain of something neither of them knew how to define, how to put into words…

Megatron realized he’d been staring at the same poem for half-an-hour, and blinked at it.

“Minimus.”

When at first he didn’t answer, Megatron looked up.

Minimus was sitting on the tiled edge of the pool, and had carefully selected a book from the pile. But he hadn't opened it, he was just holding it in his lap despondently. He was wearing his wetsuit, Megatron noted out of the corner of his eye. Why? Minimus had _known,_ had _explained,_ that he could stay dry his entire stay. And it wasn’t raining that hard, surely. Was Minimus _hinting_ something? What?

He didn't have the courage to ask.

“Minimus.” Megatron tried again.

Minimus twitched awake from his melancholy. “Er, sorry. What is it? Are you all right?”

"You were lost in thought again."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"Can't a man sit in peace?"

"You had that contemplative little furrow between your eyebrows - there, that's the one. Something on your mind?"

"Nothing - the receptionist made some curious comments - that's all." Minimus deflected. "But you didn't answer. Are you all right?"

“I am. Now, I'm sure you've read it, but this poem...”

It was faster for Megatron to simply point to the page, and for Minimus to lean over his shoulder.

‘ _This above all is precious and remarkable,_

_How we put ourselves in one another’s care,_

_How in spite of everything we trust each other_ …’

Minimus’ lips moved soundlessly as he traced the shape of the rest of the poem. His close warm presence gave Megatron a strange rush of heat. Particularly the way Minimus' breath brushed his cheek - Megatron near shuddered at that overwhelming closeness. It would have been more merciful to leave him to the storm.

“…Ah.” Minimus said, eventually, with the full-throated satisfaction of one finishing a welcome glass of water. “Wonderful.”

And he turned to see what Megatron thought, and they were within kissing distance.

Reddening, unmoving, Megatron asked the first question that came to mind:

“Why are you wearing your wetsuit?”

Damn it.

Minimus was swift to understand, but struggled to phrase an answer. “Just in case.” He managed, weakly.

Powerfully curious, Megatron pushed his luck. “’Just in case’… what? Why would you need to get in the water?”

“Just in case I wanted… to…”

Brow furrowed, unable to explain the compulsion, Minimus stared at the water, where Megatron’s tail drifted leisurely from side to side. They were still so, so close.

And the lights guttered out.

Minimus jolted back.

“A power outage?”

Thunder rumbled to confirm his appraisal. “So it seems.” Megatron said, wryly.

“One moment. I’ll go check.”

Megatron sighed and sat back against the side of the tub in a strange combination of relief and disappointment. His heart didn't stop pounding for thirty minutes.

 

* * *

 

The blackouts continued.

In most of the porcelain pool Megatron could sit upright, as if in a bathtub, and stay mostly above the surface. But the pool had range. If he'd had ankles, the shallow end would have hardly come up to them. And when he felt restless, he could swim laps of the deep end. 

Almost idly, Megatron ran a hand through the water in the dark, while the blue rain hammered against the window. Being in a bath was different with the lights out. The water seemed more liquid, shapes seemed more uncertain, and the weather outside hissed unceasingly: ‘ _shh, shhh’_. The falling rain tempered the blue light let in by the window, and it dimly flickered in a soothing, melancholy kind of way.

If Megatron flicked his second eyelid across his vision, the scenery blurred even more: the details giving way to colors, the parts becoming a whole. The room was reduced to light, water, and shadow.

Blue light. Fractals on the water. Chiaroscuro.

Why did Minimus keep wearing his green neoprene wetsuit? Comfort? Practicality? ‘ _Just in case’_ – what? Was he anticipating, in some way, that he’d want to get in the water with Megatron? Why?

He remembered the pulse-thumping connotations of the hotel, and how close they’d come to kissing, yesterday.

Oh.

_Oh._

No. Surely not. Minimus would have said something, if _that_ were the case.

Ah. But _could_ he? _Really?_ More than anyone else, Megatron knew how hard it was to overcome one’s shame, the layers of repression, to put voice to desire. Neither of them was built for overt seduction.

Still, surely not…

It was hopeless to think about.

“I have candles.” Minimus came back into the room carrying a candle, already lit, as if he were the protagonist of one of his old-fashioned three-dollar romance novels he pretended he didn’t read.

“Another ‘perk’ of our stay?”

“As far as I can determine.” Minimus used the first candle to light the second.

“A welcome one.” Megatron ran his hands through the water. “Are you coming in?”

Minimus froze in agonized desire at the side of the bath. “…What would be the point?”

“Exercise. Cleanliness.” Megatron saw Minimus' interested twitch, and took note. “Comfort.”

“Comfort…”

“It’s lovely and warm.”

“I’ll pass, I think.” Minimus refused, yet he stared at the steam with undeniable longing. “...I just don’t see the point of getting in fully clothed.”

“I understand.” Megatron said. “But for the record, I remind you, I _have_ seen you without your wetsuit before.”

On the beach at the end of the day Megatron had watched Minimus unzip it, facing into the wind, and peel the wet and heavy thing away from his body. It didn't matter that he wore a pair of light cotton shorts underneath, and a skin-thin long swimsuit underneath those.

The man was _made_ of layers.

No - most likely, it wasn’t intended as a seduction tactic. That wasn’t Minimus’ style. It was more about the act of un-suiting, un-armouring and that he felt comfortable letting Megatron watch.

It was subdued.

Undemanding.

It was also, accidentally, an extremely effective seduction tactic.

“A wetsuit is only clothing by a slim technicality,” Minimus clarified, “But technicalities are important.”

“They are.” Megatron had been thinking. “I suggest a compromise.”

“I’m… open to suggestions. Elaborate.”

More than anyone, Megatron understood how much Minimus wanted the pretence. He wanted an excuse, something to hide behind. And more than anyone, Megatron knew he was so much stronger without it. He didn’t _need_ the armour of an excuse. Nevertheless. If he _wanted_ it-

“If you want to remove your wetsuit, but let your under-layers remain, you will no longer be ‘ _fully clothed_ ’." Megatron compromised. Technicalities were important. "And if you later decide to bathe properly, for your privacy, I will close my inner eyelid to blur my vision.”

“Very astute. Yes. Acceptable.”

Minimus stripped himself of the outer wetsuit, un-suiting, un-armouring. And everything else aside, it was still a marvellous gesture of trust.

“Ohh, you were correct,” Minimus sighed, sinking down into the water four feet away from Megatron.. “The temperature is perfect.”

“Not too hot?”

“Not at all.”

“You’ll let me know if that changes?”

“Indubitably.”

“Thank you.” Megatron took in the candles, the dim lighting, and the faint aroma of incense from the other room. He blinked. “All we need now is mood music.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just the atmosphere, accidentally… er… this situation looks somewhat, er… conventionally romantic.”

There was no answer. Megatron busied himself by pretending to read, so that he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

“Oh.” Minimus said, in quiet understanding.

Megatron was hit with the sudden, soul-crushing realisation that no: Minimus _hadn’t_ grasped the romantic connotations of their stay, and yes: he really _had_ made the booking in perfect innocence, and that on top of this, Megatron had acted unforgivably intimately. The earth could open up and swallow him, now. Thank you.

“I’ve acted completely inappropriately.” Minimus sounded miserable, and strangely muffled. When Megatron looked, he saw why: the other man had his face in his hands.

“No, rather I should be the one apologising.” Megatron rushed to reassure him. “I acted on an incorrect assumption… I thought you were aware.”

“That just makes it worse.”

“It occurs to me,” Megatron said, “That despite the struggle of voicing one’s desires outright, there are moments when it is useful.”

Minimus looked up at him. “’Desires’?”

“Or anything shameful,” Megatron hastily clarified, face burning. “Not just desires, obviously. It was a joke.”

“Oh. Haha.”

Each of them stared in complete fascination at the way the candlelight reflected off the slight ripples of the warm, calm water.

Outside, the storm howled.

“So…”

“Hmm?”

“Desires.” In a perfectly sincere deadpan, Minimus addressed his statement to the wall.

Megatron hummed and nodded.

“Well.”

“Indeed.”

He cleared his throat.

“Do you-?” Minimus began, at the same time as Megatron said, “Would-?”

“Sorry, you go…”

“Would you like me to read some poetry aloud?”

“That’s just what I was thinking, yes.”

 

* * *

 

Poetry was a marvellous excuse for intimacy.

It was too good, in fact. They were running dangerously low on poetry books. This was the last one.

Megatron flicked open the final anthology.

“ _Axiom: truth lies in the visible spectrum? With really_

_Nothing to hide the palms of the sea open up accepting_

_The moon; radar circles compulsively in search of touch_ …”

The experience was different between reading poetry privately, and reading it aloud. On the page, one couldn’t help but consume the whole thing at once. Your eyes, once finished with one line, were instinctively pulled to devour the next.

There was no patience. No suspense.

_“Extremes of space invade this witching hour,_

_Continual arousal/release rewards this loneness._

_On the horizon a simple code is overwhelmed by_

_Natural catastrophe, a flash flood of sheet lightning.”_

But when spoken aloud, both speaker and listener had no choice but to experience it slowly, as if each line was only just being created. Megatron could measure the poet’s pauses. He could give punctuation and stresses their due. In the sound, silence became possible. And his favourite part was always when he was nearing the last lines, the last couplet – he’d slow down gravely, suspending the end. Just for a moment, he’d take a breath.

He'd savour the feeling of being almost finished but not quite. Not yet.

_“Somehow the beacon persists, an omen signaling_

_Territory on the sleeve of complete twilight.”_

Megatron sat back. He had trouble reading aloud. It took a significant portion of his attention, for he hadn’t been born with the smooth voice of an orator. But what did that matter? Trying anyway, despite not being built for it, was worth more than a thousand perfect attempts.

And who knew?

Maybe his raw gravel voice had its’ own charm.

In the bath, three feet away - and in keeping with their compromise, half-clothed - Minimus sat straight-backed against the porcelain wall. The candlelight lit him warmly from behind.

“I understand what the poem is describing.” Minimus said, dourly. “The aurora, the storm, the emotions evoked in witnessing it… so I know what I’m about to say may be completely unrelated. Forgive me. It is only that the poem reminds me of the way one feels, on the evening beach, watching ships signaling out on the ocean…”

Minimus trailed off dejectedly, as if he wanted to say more, but was too shy.

“Elaborate,” Megatron encouraged him.

After all, half the charm of reading poetry together was in the tangential discussions it prompted.

“Well,” Minimus perked up in the way he always did before giving a lecture. “If you stand in the shallows and peer into the murky dust, you can see the ship lights signaling, communicating out in the dark blue mist. But – I don’t know - do those urgent glittering responses mean ‘ _stay away’_ or ‘ _yes, yes, I want this’?_ I don’t know. They’re like the mysterious signals in your soul that demand things of you, but you cannot tell what they’re trying to say, or what they’re searching for. I don’t know.”

Suddenly self-conscious, Minimus folded in on himself. In the wake of such an out-there divulgence he was already becoming saturnine, gloomy, already repressing the impulses that had led him to speak out. That wouldn’t do.

“I see which lines prompted your thoughts.” Megatron said. “And you were correct; it bears little similarity.”

“Oh dear.”

“Nonetheless, a different truth is no less true.”

Minimus’ head snapped up and he gave Megatron his full, intense attention. “How so?”

Megatron stumbled over the words, suddenly self-conscious. “There is something beautiful - something bright - about the purposefulness of those lights. Even if - especially if - one doesn't understand their meaning. The most important thing is the imperfect attempt at honesty.”

“All honesty is imperfect.” Minimus said. “When the right words do not exist, language forces us to lie.”

Megatron was taken aback, wide-eyed, in wonder. “Indeed.”

“Short of telepathy, there is no real way to bridge the space between us.”

“ _’Real’?_ But telepathy _isn’t_ real... oh! I get it! Most amusing.”

“Thank you for discerning my joke.”

“It was a pretty good one.” Megatron said, aside. “Anyway. As you say, barring fantasy, there is no way to communicate exact truth. But the beauty of it, you’re saying, is in trying anyway...”

“Indeed. It goes back to what you said; it is easier to keep one’s desires private. And yet, we struggle to communicate. It is the struggle itself that is of most importance.”

“Yes…”

“Mmm.”

Megatron turned to Minimus. “So, for you - what does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“The communication of desire.”

“I – ah-“ Minimus stuttered. “Does this relate?”

Megatron shut the last poetry book. “It's just an intellectual exercise.”

“Oh! If that’s all, then… I’d say the beauty of desire is in restraint.”

“You cannot mean that.”

“I do! When one has improper wants – er, I mean – desire itself is improper-“

Megatron dared not tease. Instead he continued the pretence of cool discussion, and asked with quiet patience, and his voice hardly trembled at all. “What kind of ‘improper wants’ would merit such restraint?”

If it wasn't Minimus, he would never have asked.

And if it wasn't him, Minimus would never have answered.

“Er.” Minimus could hardly look at him. Megatron knew he was clinging tightly to the pretence of intellectual stimulation. “Are you familiar with – the traditional conventions of er – bad romantic novellas?”

“Enlighten me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Please. I’m curious.”

“...Only to save your ignorance. Erotic contrivances. Forbidden trysts. Conquering warriors. It is improper to have such desires, let alone voice them, and to _act_ on them – well. Anyway. They only exist as a narrative pretext for, er… intimacy. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Megatron said. "Er - what kind of intimacy?"

Minimus wouldn't answer.

But he didn't need to - Megatron knew what he meant. It wasn't as if understanding came easy. He'd noted both what Minimus _couldn't_ say and _wouldn't_ say, he'd noted his reactions: it had taken _a lot_ of long conversations, a lot. But at the end of the day, that summed it up, didn’t it? All the layers, all the levels of meaning, all the poetry – saying one thing by hiding it behind another – at the end of the day they could summarise it with those five words:

_‘You know what I mean’._

Because Megatron did. Every time.

In order to return the poetry book to the pile, he would need to lean over the top of Minimus. Before doing so, he caught Minimus’ eye and gestured his intentions, to which Minimus nodded and shuffled to the side.

Megatron gripped the side of the pool, and on arm strength alone, lifted his bare torso bodily out of the water so he could reach.

When he sat back down Minimus was terribly red, and terribly close.

“Too hot?” Megatron frowned, concerned.

Minimus choked. “Pardon?”

“The water.”

“Yes, the water! It’s fine!" Minimus sucked in a steadying breath. "Say - Megatron. Did you know there is a place where a silt-laden desert river meets the brine of the open sea?”

To anyone else it would have been a trivial fact. But Megatron understood how Minimus flirted, and sucked in a sharp breath. Despite their proximity, he dared not pull away.

“An estuary. Yes.”

“It’s fascinating, don’t you think?"

"In what way?"

"That together, two lonely places can create such a wonderful variety of life…”

It wasn't often Megatron found himself stunned speechless.

He only moved when Minimus began to draw away in despondence, disheartened by Megatron’s lack of reaction. His mouth turned down so miserably. That would not do.

Megatron’s hand stuttered in hesitation, mid-reach. An asking look. A nod of consent. Megatron took Minimus’ chin in his hand, and with his thumb brushed over his moustache and smoothed out the sad corner of his mouth. Minimus’ lips parted under the touch. Slowly, fighting the old battle against repression, Megatron leant in.

But just before their lips met he paused, took a shaking breath, and savoured the closeness.

Minimus rose to meet him.

The surprise of the sensation was what melted him. The sudden, tender warmth, smooth lips burning across his, like a holy brand. Why did Megatron’s mind supply such odd thoughts at a time like this? He kept thinking – ‘brand’: a literary term for sword; hence ‘brandish’. Perhaps because he felt as if he’d been pierced? Brand, as if the purpose of the searing kiss was to mark him – mark: to note or pay careful attention; as in ‘mark my words’. Noted, with thanks.

This moronic train of thought had a simple explanation. Megatron’s mind had melted.

And then Minimus, with sweet affection, surged forward and deepened the kiss-

It would have been more merciful to leave him to the storm.

“ _Oh_.” Megatron said, when he could speak again.

“Er, yes?” Minimus jerked his head back and gave him a puzzled look. “’Oh’ what? Please elaborate.”

Megatron stumbled over the rush of words. “It was, hm, a phatic utterance – a filler word - I suppose. Except no, because filler words are apparently meaningless, and I – it wasn’t _meaningless,_ I meant…”

With a look of aching sympathy, Minimus watched his struggle to communicate.

“So it wasn’t bad.” Minimus clarified.

“No! No!”

“Good. You see, I was worried your ‘oh’ meant…”

“Oh no, _no.”_ Megatron gripped Minimus’ shoulders emphatically. “You’re _wonderful_ , Minimus.”

In the other man’s face Megatron saw only distressed confusion. The furrow between his brows asked an obvious question, ‘ _how was he meant to respond to these words?’_ Minimus so clearly didn’t know. He frowned back at Megatron for a moment, before looking away in awkward anguish.

Megatron couldn’t bear it.

He bent his head to Minimus’ neck and pressed his lips to it, gently, and felt a shiver run through.

“Megatron…” Minimus began.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry if I’ve, _nnh_ , misled you, but I’m not what you’d call – _ah -_ I’m not exactly - _experienced_.”

Megatron paused. “Do you want to stop?”

Minimus didn't say anything.

Instead he tilted his head just so, to the side, opening up his neck for further access. Megatron obeyed the implicit invitation and kissed just underneath Minimus’ ear, scraping his fangs across the skin _so_ tenderly, _so_ carefully. The rough sensation sent such a line of tingling desire down Minimus’ spine that he arched his back, and no doubt without meaning to, let out a soft desperate noise from the back of his throat.

The sound melted Megatron like candle-wax dripping under the heat of the flame. For a while, he could only bite his lip and ride out the intensity.

Then, for the sake of hearing that noise again, he bit gently at the soft skin under Minimus’ ear.

Minimus full-body _shuddered_ under his mouth.

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasped. “Megatron…”

“Mmh?”

But he didn’t elaborate, so Megatron continued, gently tormenting Minimus’ pulse with his teeth until he could no longer bite back his cries.

“Megatron-“

“Mm?”

“Megatron, do you-“

“Yes?”

“Do you remember our compromise?”

“What?”

“We said,” Minimus dourly reminded him, “That… I would remove my wetsuit, and later, if I decided to… _bathe properly_ , I would remove the rest and you would blur your eyesight.”

“We did.” Megatron was still frowning, not understanding.

“It’s later. Would you mind?”

“I - Oh! _Oh!_ Naturally. Of course.” Megatron let his underwater membrane flick across his vision, once again reducing the room to blurred colour and shadow.

For Minimus’ privacy he drifted apart, and let his gaze float out into the middle distance. But he felt he hadn’t been entirely honest with Minimus – it wasn’t as if closing his inner eyelid made him _blind_. He could still see, backlit by the muffled glow of the candles, the sombre silhouette of Minimus, thoughtfully untying the drawstring of his shorts; he could see him, seriously and quietly, start to unwrap his turban. Outside, the rain was still pouring down. While he waited, Megatron thought about the romance of estuaries. 

Out of the corner of his blurred vision, Megatron noticed that Minimus had gone still.

He gave a low, quizzical rumble: the auditory equivalent of a question mark.

“My swimmers – er - the zipper’s stuck.”

“Oh.” There was a long, awkward silence before Megatron realised what Minimus was asking. “Would you mind if I – would you like me to-“

“If it’s not too much trouble-”

“No, not at all-”

“-you don’t have to-“

“Please. May I?”

“Very well.”

The zipper was not actually stuck.

Rather than comment on the obvious deception, Megatron hummed in quiet amusement, and with a flick of his tail came in closer. Face to face. Close enough to kiss. Minimus turned his head away in hot awkwardness. The teeth of the zipper purred as Megatron pulled it down. He didn’t go too fast. Better to savour the slowness, lovingly, languidly. Better to let Minimus adjust to the un-armoring a little at a time, inch by inch.

Just the gesture, that he was letting him do this - it was marvellous, and Megatron would treat it with due reverence.

Indrawn breath.

Slow exhale.

Minimus twisted away at an almost unnatural angle – it had to be hurting his neck. Yet even though Megatron felt the other man shudder under the slow passage of the zipper, under the opening up of the armour over his heart – even so, he did not ask Megatron to stop. The tremble Megatron could feel under the other man's skin was the _opposite_ of indifference. The longing tilt of Minimus' head spoke to that. The exposed arch of his neck said ' _kiss me, here_ ' in every way but verbal.

And more than that - the mer-culture connotations of an exposed vulnerability sent a ripple of heat right through Megatron's body. It was the _trust_ in the action. The muted _desire_.

Megatron desperately yearned to kiss him there.

But not yet. Not yet.

“The shoulders next.” Minimus told him. He struggled to remain aloof, but alas, a slight breathlessness still came through in his words.

Megatron could relate - he had to swallow before he could speak, and even then he sounded raspy. “Ah… noted.”

He slid a thumb inside the loose collar. It slid over and off Minimus’ shoulders gradually; it was moulded too tightly to his body to go any other way. It was the kind of tightness that required an expenditure of strength, Megatron had to strain slightly against the elastic resistance, and yet consideration demanded he be gentle and deliberate. He managed to free one shoulder. At the sight of success, Megatron was half-tempted to smooth a hand over Minimus’ bare skin.

But practicality wrestled with desire and pinned it down. Silently, Megatron counted to ten. Practicality rose triumphant, while desire was left crushed and panting, defeated in the internal battle.

Responsibly, Megatron exerted pressure on the elastic fabric, _only_ on the fabric, and one by one Minimus was able to pull his arms out unassisted.

“What next?” Megatron asked seriously, softly. 

Minimus had his head still turned away. He wouldn’t answer.

“Minimus?”

“I want –“ He broke off, wrecked. “I want you to – can’t you just – oh, it’s so hard, to ask these things aloud!”

It hurt Megatron’s heart, to torture him so. “I know. I’m the same. I know.”

“Can’t you just…”

“I can’t, unless you ask me.” Megatron desperately wanted to undress Minimus, he wanted to drag the body-tight fabric down his torso, over his waist. But the same thing held him back that stopped Minimus from voicing his desires outright. He was frozen in self-consciousness.

But if Minimus asked him to do it, he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“ _Ask me_.” Megatron pleaded, in barely a whisper, barely a breath.

Minimus’ composure thawed. “Megatron if you don’t undress me right now I’ll- I’ll ah-“

Minimus stuttered as Megatron cupped the back of his head and leant in for a kiss. It was chaste, eyes closed, affectionate: and Minimus threw his arms around his neck to keep him there. Underwater he pulled the swimmers down slow, so slow, his thumbs hooked underneath against burning skin. He dared not stop. If he stopped, he would think about what he was doing, and embarrassment would freeze him once more. Instead, Megatron let himself melt. He dragged the body-tight fabric down his torso, past his waist – Minimus gripped his shoulders hard – and down his thighs. His heart was hammering.

“You might,” Megatron found the courage to say, “be able to step out of it, now…”

Minimus did so, and kicked it away underwater.

“Wonderful.” Megatron said, softly, and leant in, because his moustache was already so beautifully ruffled, he figured another kiss would hardly do it any more harm. “...Is this all right?”

“Ah – yes, but – you don’t have to ask for every little thing. You know I hate to answer.“

“I know. I’m the same. And yet,” Megatron sighed, “In an odd way, I enjoy the struggle to communicate. Even over the little things.”

“Ah-“

Megatron wordlessly slid a hand over the small of Minimus’ back in a smooth caress, hugging him closer, easy and warm. He brushed across bare skin, a little higher. To his surprise, Minimus laughed, and then stifled it quickly. It was a bright shock of sound, like a flutter, like falling. Megatron's eyes widened. 

“I’m sorry-“ Minimus began. “Ah- it appears I’m ticklish there-“

Megatron almost laughed, but he knew Minimus would think it mocking, rather than affectionate. Instead, quite seriously, he sighed. “You’re wonderful, Minimus.”

Immediately, Minimus twitched against him in anguish, again asking that desperate question, ‘ _how was he meant to respond?’_ He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

Megatron wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

“I love you,” he murmured, and smudged an aching kiss to the corner of Minimus’ mouth. “I love you.” Another kiss: Minimus’ lips parted. “I love you, I love you…”

He was able to bow his head properly to kiss Minimus, now, and made good use of the new position, made sure Minimus _enjoyed_ it. By the muffled sounds of approval Minimus tried to repress, he'd succeeded. Oh, what joy, to discover first-hand what made him sound like _that!_

And when they broke apart, breathless: “I love you as well," Minimus answered.

It had started slow.

It had started with a microscopic grain of it in everything. A little flicker, a little flame. And it came to light in the moments of silence, in the long conversations, in the nano-second after his heart stopped before it beat again. It had grown into not-looking at him across the room, into quiet deceptions and excuses to spend time together, it had bloomed into a foundational fact.

They had fallen in love.

And what was love? Love was the edge, as in between the beach and the sea. It was being close, but also never close: because the atoms didn’t touch, because you held yourself back, because when the right words do not exist language forces us to lie.

Love is the separation between the words ‘I’ and ‘you’.

But it is also the thing that connects them.

"What do you want, Minimus?" Megatron found the courage to ask.

"I - I want-"

 

* * *

 

This was nothing like one of Minimus’ romantic dollar-novellas.

While yes, he was blushing and fidgeting nervously, this was because there was a knot of awkward tension in his stomach. It was a thickly tangled mess of humiliation and self-consciousness and arousal. Hardly alluring.

Megatron trailed a hand lightly up the back of Minimus’ leg. The contact was so electric, and so new, that the shock of it made Minimus jump. Immediately, _immediately,_ Megatron jerked his whole hand away from the area and Minimus was shamefully forced to stutter that no, it wasn’t bad, and _please do it again_. And Megatron obeyed, he cupped the back of his thigh and rubbed it in apology. Minimus sucked in a breath, and for a pounding heartbeat he held it, lungs burning deliciously, like diving under a powerful wave and letting it roll over you. His pulse thumped. His head fell back.

“I- ah-” Minimus began, incoherently. That wasn’t at all what they said in the dollar-novellas! Where was the banter, the thinly veiled innuendos? Nothing came to mind.

Nevertheless, Megatron hummed and took advantage of his open neck to kiss him again, breath warm and wet on his skin. It shouldn't have felt like praise. And yet, and yet.

It would have been easier if Megatron had been the conqueror of legend. It would have been easier if he’d been some dollar-novel barbarian lord, some bloodied king, and Minimus merely the spoils of his conquest. Easier, simpler, to lay back and – and let himself be conquered _–_ but no, there was no smirking ruffian here, there was no dread king oozing barely restrained rage to sweep him off his feet and _conquer_ him, no dark desires come to life.

There was only Megatron, and he was – of all things - _conscientious_.

“Oh!” Minimus wanted more, that thumb, on his – on him. “Oh, please – Megatron, what you do-“

“What do I do?” Megatron rumbled, and his voice fair thrummed with need to hear the answer.

“-you do to me, you’re such a – _ah_ -“

“What am I?”

“Ah - _ah_ \- a _tease_.”

Megatron muffled a sound of surprise. From shoulders to tail his body rippled pleasantly, perhaps with desire. Because of course, ‘tease’ implied that Minimus wanted more. It was almost an outright request.

_Almost._

But Megatron knew what he meant.

“I apologise.” Megatron murmured warmly. “I wasn’t aware. Allow me to rectify my mistake immediately.”

He lifted Minimus bravely atop him, a hand under his thigh, an arm around his waist. And he swum leisurely backward into the shallows, until his back scraped against the gently sloping porcelain, until only the size of Megatron’s shoulders kept his head above the water. It almost made Minimus wonder that the bath had been designed to facilitate this exact position. 

Minimus had heard that when a shark swum on its' back, it relaxed into a state of stimulated hypnosis. To what extent this was true, Minimus couldn't say. He wasn't a shark. But he did note that the merman's breathing had visibly steadied. And it was with relaxed, measured actions, that Megatron pulled Minimus to straddle him, onto coarse mer-shark skin – neither sandpaper raw nor scale-smooth, but something in-between – and cupped his chin with a tender hand. Minimus swallowed thickly.

Megatron gazed at Minimus with a fond little crease between his eyebrows. And just that – that look – it shouldn't have been enough to soothe Minimus’ rattled soul. And yet, he relaxed.

“Your second eyelid…” Minimus mused. “Am I still blurry?”

Megatron muffled a groan like Minimus had just pulled out a part of his soul. “ _Yes._ Are you sure…?”

Minimus stayed composed, or at least, he tried to. “If I’m to embarrass myself, I, I might as well do it properly.”

“ _Minimus_.” Megatron said his name a divine lament, like a replacement for swearing. “ _Minimus._ Unless you ask me, I can’t…”

“Look at me.”

And Megatron did, and there was no filter across his vision, no blurring, only sharp clarity. Megatron saw him completely clearly. But then again, he always had.

Megatron cupped his chin and smoothed out his moustache with a thumb. “...handsome.”

"Pardon?"

"You're very handsome."

“I dislike flattery.”

“As do I: flattery is insincere. _I admire you._ There’s a difference.”

“Even without…” Minimus’ gaze flicked to his shed and scattered clothing.

Megatron almost smiled. “ _Especially_ without.”

The heat of the bath was very powerful, all of a sudden, and it went right to Minimus’ head.

He might have been steaming.

It wouldn’t have been a surprise.

The tension in his gut melted, as Megatron turned his attention to finding every part of Minimus that made him twitch in pleasure, every place that stopped his breath for a heartbeat in sweet arousal. Only a small part of Minimus still held back. A deep down flicker in the murky dust of his soul. A little light asking a desperate question: _‘How was he meant to respond?’_ And Megatron saw his anguish, and thinking to soothe him, sprinkled a series of blurring kisses up his neck. He pressed his lips to a sensitive patch under Minimus' jaw as if to stain the skin with limb-melting, unfiltered affection. And every kiss eroded a little more of Minimus' composure.

As if in fascination, Megatron's thumb rubbed quiet little circles into the inside of his scarred knee, a teasing point of contact that both drove Minimus to distraction, and yet wasn’t enough. But Minimus dared not ask him to move higher. The inherent hedonism of the words trapped them under his tongue, it being in bad taste to voice them aloud. He dared not.

And yet, _and yet-_

"Mmh." Megatron spoke quietly against his ear. "Minimus, I remember you mentioned - how did you phrase it? - your _improper wants_."

"I did, yes."

"Anything in particular you'd like to share?"

"Not - this time."

"Yes, I thought you might say that. We'll take things slow, play it safe."

"Good. Wise. Yes."

"Hmm." Megatron leaned back and smiled quietly up at him. "Have you noticed you tend to get monosyllabic when you're distracted?"

"I - _ah_ \- can you _blame_ me?"

The thickly muscled length of Megatron’s tail was spreading Minimus’ legs, and oh, wasn’t that a tremendous thing to feel underneath him? And every now and again, the slow movement of his body would rub at the bare and sensitive underside of his slowly stiffening shaft. And every now and again, as he brushed against him, it would make Minimus stifle a deep groan and brace himself atop Megatron’s shoulders.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. He felt raw in a way beyond the carnal.

And Megatron - despite his cool facade – hadn't taken his eyes off Minimus. Not once. And that - it was _more_ than flattering, it was - because Megatron _admired him._ Sincerely.

“Agh-“ Minimus couldn’t keep down the low sound of agonised desire from the back of his throat. Megatron had bumped against him again. “Nnh.”

“Again?” Megatron asked.

 _Please,_ Minimus did not say, would not say. _Please._

“Yes?”

 _“Yes.”_ Minimus managed, in spite of everything.

To which Megatron obeyed, oh, _with enthusiasm,_ rippling his body to press their hips together, to grind against him.

The sensation hit Minimus like the shock of an oncoming wave, as if he’d been standing knee deep in the breakers, and been hit front-on by the white water rolling towards him, full in the chest. It was so much, and so good. Megatron pressed his lips to the side of Minimus’ neck and ground against him over, and over, and although he tried Minimus could not help the little _ah, ah,_ that left him with every slow thrust. And Megatron _shuddered_ at every little sound, and like a physical echo, repeated the motion as if only to hear him gasp once more.

Minimus folded forward, shaking, holding onto Megatron’s shoulders for dear life.

“Hmm.” Megatron nosed tenderly at the skin underneath Minimus’ ear, and brushed his knuckles down Minimus’ abdomen, trailing lower in a slow, yet deliberate manner. “May I?”

Minimus gave a kind of full-body shiver. “If you must.”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Y- you _know_ how much I hate saying these things outright!”

“Yes, I know, and I apologise. Only I do love the way you say them..."

Minimus was all but gasping, now. “It’s - humiliating!”

“It's not. It’s just us here.”

“One’s dignity isn’t like a piece of clothing, to be removed at will, it’s – it’s a part of you-“

Megatron’s knuckles drifted yet lower, across a sensitive patch of skin, and Minimus’ stomach muscles jumped under the touch. He shut his eyes, hard, and couldn’t speak for a second. To be caressed so tenderly, so lovingly-

He felt Megatron pause, and then touch him there again, as if to privately memorise the location that had elicited such a reaction. It was the attentiveness, more than anything, which rolled Minimus' hips forward, and tipped his head back in silent, aching want.

“On the contrary.” Megatron said, hoarsely. “Try to imagine it is, and take it off. Even in your vulnerability, I assure you, you are still worthy.”

“Ah…”

Megatron surrendered to an internal impulse, and crushed his lips against Minimus’ temple, to the damp waves of his hair.

“Nngh-” Minimus shuddered at the sweet strangeness of such complete intimacy. “ _Please.”_

Megatron was the same. He hid the shame of his words by holding Minimus close. “Whatever you want.” He said, muffled. "Just say the word.”

“ _You._ ”

The rawness in Minimus’ voice sent the other man strutless, as if some foundation had been taken out from under him. He groaned softly and hid his face on Minimus’ shoulder. Only then could he recover enough to obey Minimus’ unspoken request, and drop his hand to Minimus’ shaft, and thumb the tender head with the most careful of caresses.

In that fog of golden limb-melting heat, for a moment, Minimus forgot how to speak.

It was scalding arousal, agony, like walking across sun-baked sand. But it was a _good_ burn. It was hot and overwhelming in the best way. Megatron stroked him smoothly, again, and again, like the crashing of breakers in the shallows.

Relaxed.

Unrelenting.

Minimus didn’t realise he was strung out shaking until Megatron _paused_ , taking the sudden tension in his every muscle for _refusal,_ and he started to _let go-_

Except when he began to, Minimus nearly sobbed, and the pure unintentional desperation in the strangled sound was enough to convince Megatron of his enthusiastic consent. It was a good thing, really, that he couldn’t think but for the wet burn of Megatron’s hand on his length. He throbbed in every nerve. If he’d been able to think, he would have been so completely embarrassed he’d have spontaneously combusted, water and all. And Megatron was still _looking_ at him, the full weight of his burning gaze terrible and focused. He stared up at him with hot, glittering intensity.

It was a fragile, vulnerable feeling.

But it was no less worthy for that.

And lower down – was that a seam? – below the transition of man and shark, it was as if a seam in Megatron was opening up. It didn’t seem fair, truly, to be the only one being touched. Minimus braced a hand on Megatron’s hip, oh, _so_ casually, just near that flushed opening.

An asking look. A nod of consent. Megatron’s breath stuttered, and Minimus caressed that flushed seam in the perfect mirror of the hand stroking his shaft. It opened.

“Ah! Minimus, _Minimus_ , but you are-“ Megatron shut his eyes in the intensity, his sharp teeth clenched together, and when he spoke it was near a growl. “I am undone.”

Minimus swallowed thickly. The humidity was getting to him. “In what way?”

“You – rnh!”

Megatron bit back the groan far too late. It was not deliberate; it sounded like his throat had decided for him.

It was because, at that moment, Minimus’ fingertips had drifted lower, and had gingerly skirted the rim of what appeared to be an opening.

He hadn’t entered. The softness was a harsh contrast from the rest of his body, and Minimus was fascinated by it. But just that light teasing contact was enough to rob Megatron - with all his size and strength - of all ability to answer.

“I undo you-?” Minimus repeated, confused, drunk on arousal. “I – in what way?”

“I can’t - begin to describe what you do to me - that you allow me to - I - I’m-“

Every time he lifted free, Megatron bucked slightly, begging him to return in every way except verbal. And every time Minimus returned he twisted under his touch. Megatron’s reciprocations were equally maddening, the slick squeeze and pull of his warm hand sliding up and down his shaft - maddening. It threatened to strip away the last shreds of his composure. And in the dark dust of his soul, the glittering lights flashed, pulsing - was this feeling _'want'?_ It was enough to take a stronger man to pieces.

Not in a violent way. It wasn't that the desire was violent or powerful.

But when you'd built your life upon _restraining_ your desires, breaking the habit wasn't easy. The slightest loss of composure, the slightest surrender, could feel like your foundational fortifications were being dismantled. 

The want itself was actually very tenuous, barely a flicker. It was candlelight, not a signal flare.

But the warm glow filled the dark dust of the room, all the same.

“ _Wait_ ,” Megatron pleaded, hoarsely.

“Why? I don’t see that I should be the only one to lose my dignity.”

“No, no, I mean, wait, please - if we’re saying goodbye to dignity, I’d like you in me. Please.”

“In you?”

“Yes, _don’t_ make me ask twice.”

“Like this?”

Minimus pressed gently into that slick entrance with two fingers, and into the tight squeeze of his opening. He was so hot inside, so soft.

“Nn- not enough, but – _agh_ \- _Minimus_ , that’s _good_ -“

Megatron’s hand stuttered on him mid-stroke. Minimus couldn’t help but lean down to kiss the merman over his heart as he thrust wetly into him with his fingers, as Megatron groaned, completely lost, completely undone at his touch. 

 _“Nnh!”_ Megatron had such a sweet crease between his eyebrows. (It did not incline Minimus to show him mercy. Not yet.) His arousal held him like a haze – not weak, but quiet and intense – and he could stand it a little longer. Except that Megatron had memorised all of Minimus’ weaknesses, all the things that made him twitch, and he dragged his hand down the underside of Minimus’ cock in _just_ the perfect way to make his mind melt from the vivid rush of _condensed pleasur_ e that rolled over him, all at once, buckling limbs, pooling heat low in his gut. Desire as gentle as the tide threatened to sweep him away, and like the tide, Minimus could not withstand it. He moaned, raw.

At that embarrassing sound, Megatron constricted around his fingers still wetly thrusting. All the heat and mass of him curled around him, his entire body straining, all of him focused on his touch. _Minimus'_ touch. 

He had to lean down, had to kiss Megatron deep in the mouth, or else moan again. 

“Megatron,” he said, and just the sound of his voice had Megatron clenching around his fingers. Minimus had to swallow hard before he could voice the shameful question. “Megatron?”

“ _Nnh_ \- yes?”

Even at this point, he held back. “Forgive my crudity – nngh - there’s no elegant way – to ask.”

_“Yes?”_

“May I –“ Minimus tried, raggedly, but he still couldn’t phrase the desire outright. “No, I can’t say it.”

Megatron turned his head to give him an incredible look, like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

“Minimus. _Ask me.”_

“Do you want me inside you-?”

Megatron knew what he meant. “ _Yes._ Oh. _Please_.”

When the head of Minimus' hard length met Megatron’s slick opening, the sensation sent him reeling. The word 'frisson' came to mind. It was like a series of pleasant tingling waves up his back, like when a piece of music hit him in a particularly powerful way, and he was briefly overwhelmed. And in the turbulent wake of those shivering waves of pleasure, followed a personal pronoun, and a flickering impulse.

 _'I want'_. The desire _pulled_ him. 

And what did Minimus do whenever he wanted something? He restrained the desire.

"Nnh." Megatron said, with feeling. His hands hovered on Minimus’ hips, trying to be gentle, but wanting to encourage him forward.

And Minimus obliged. He tipped his hips forward, into him, and slowly guided the rest of his length into that tight opening, sweet slick and hot. He slipped in oh, so easily, and Megatron arched his head back rigid, muscles working in his throat as he swallowed a sob. And a jet of arousal flickered through his abdomen, in tandem with Megatron's moan, when Minimus hilt deep hit that little burning core of nerves dead on.

 _"Megatron-"_ Minimus said.

Megatron fell upon Minimus’ neck in near reverence, and worshipped him with shivering kisses. He scraped teeth down against the delicate line of a vein, just a tease, not too hard, and it drove Minimus right out of his mind with the sweetness of it.

He began to thrust slowly. In and out, torturously slow. He cut back a gasp when Megatron’s lips brushed the hollow base of his neck, mercifully light. But Minimus was unable to hold back the moan proper when the merman rose up in a rush of water to give his collarbone his full attention, mouthing at the hot point, a direct line to his nerves.

Megatron was saying something against him, barely audible.

 _"Deeper,"_ he groaned, soft and low.

Deliberately, making no hurried movements, Minimus gripped Megatron's hips and rolled forward again into his open, slick entrance. There was no point holding onto composure _now_ : this was the point of no return, and _everything_ in him was condensed down to the burning tightness of Megatron, _around_ him. It was a sweet slick slide, entering him, driving him wild. To pull out left him longing, to slide in made his nerves sing. The repetitive slow pace, the divine thrust, deeper, more, grinding into, lost in the repetition. It was only because it was Megatron, that Minimus relaxed into the loss of control. Only because it was Minimus, that Megatron wanted him to.

He only slowed because Megatron was having trouble breathing, in short ragged little gasps. Underwater, the merman's confused gills took over. 

"Yes?" Minimus asked.

"Yes - _damn it - ah!"_

And he'd thought the heat had reached a plateau, but no, at that sound, the melting temperature _climbed up a notch_. Minimus jerked his hips flush against Megatron’s, the rest of the way, and came so so close to swearing.

“Nngh!” Minimus gripped Megatron’s shoulders for grim stability. Minimus rolled his hand in just the way to send a heady shot of arousal through Megatron’s gut, and again, and _again_ , but his thrusts were getting harder to maintain. It had been a while since he'd done this, and he'd been younger, back then. He wasn't going to last.

When Minimus braced a hand on Megatron’s chest, it was like he pressed the air from his lungs. The merman's gills fluttering desperately. Accidentally - was it an accident? Even he didn’t know - Minimus’ fingertips brushed over those gills, high on the sides of his ribs. The sound Megatron made was so sweet, Minimus couldn't help but do it again. 

“Nnh! No, please.”

He immediately pulled away, and Megatron arched his back as if to chase after him, as if in torment. “Why-?”

“If you touch me there - Minimus, I can’t - I can’t last.”

“- _Good_.”

Again, Minimus let his fingers barely brush over his gills, which _fluttered_ softly under his fingers, which was so strange and so _beautiful_ , and such a wonderful gesture of trust. They opened and closed, gasping underwater. Minimus lovingly slid a hand over them, and could have pressed them shut. But he didn’t. Megatron groaned as if he was being taken apart.

“Close-“ Minimus gasped, ragged, ruined.

Megatron shut his eyes hard. Momentarily overwhelmed by the sight of Minimus, undone, perhaps? Or perhaps, to sear the sight into his memory? Perhaps both.

"I _can't_ -," he growled through gritted teeth. But did Minimus hear - was that desperation in his voice? It was. " _-_ can't _begin_ to express- my gratitude, _Minimus_ -" 

But a part of Minimus still held back, agonised and aching. “How am I meant to respond, when you say things like that?”

“ _Believe me_.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all.”

 _What did he want?_ Better not to say. Better to hold back. After all, Minimus Ambus hardly ever got what he wanted.

But then again, if someone wanted _him-_

Hilt deep, Minimus reached up to cup Megatron’s face, and pulled him down into an entirely undignified kiss.

Megatron came with a three syllable growl, more plea than word, “ _Min-i-mus_ …”

And that last little part of Minimus  _let go._

Megatron came curled over, pressed flush to Minimus chest, holding him tight within him. The hot sensation was fantastic, and with Megatron shaking to pieces under him, that was it, it was over. That was enough to put Minimus over the edge, high and strung out and shivering, a mind whiteout, where the tiniest little thing wracked him with exquisite shakes, and time stretched out sweet and fluid.

_“Gnnh-!”_

When Minimus fell still, shivering, Megatron raised a hand to stroke his cheek, quiet and calming and tender. He trailed his knuckles lovingly down the side of his jaw, and Minimus began to come back to himself.

“Minimus, you are-“ Megatron recovered enough self control to praise the other man, “Splendid, utterly handsome-“

“Oh, Megatron.“

“-wonderful.”

Megatron was smiling quietly at him, little wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and a fond crease between his brows. 

"And you as well." 

Megatron laughed, and Minimus pretended not to see the tears in his eyes.

"You really didn't know this was a hotel designed for... intimacy?"

"Oh! If only the receptionist had phrased it like that. I  _know_ that euphemism.  _Why_ people  _insist_ on turning language to their own purposes willy-nilly," Minimus didn't have the breath for a proper lecture, so huffed a sigh, and let his head onto Megatron's chest. This way, he couldn't tell if the pulse thumping in his ears was his own, or Megatron's. It wasn't as if Minimus had _no_ stamina - he _was_ a lifeguard - but compared to his youth it was still embarrassing.

They lay half on top of each other in the shallows, salt-soaked and wet. They had - ah - splashed quite a bit of water out of the bathtub in their enthusiasm. Quite a bit. Minimus was faintly embarrassed. Luckily, the hotel bathroom had a very effective drain.

"We have two more days," Megatron said, "Before the storm passes. How do you want to spend them?"

"Well, if you're interested, we could..."

"What?"

"I brought a small collection of romantic novellas. I could read them aloud."

"That would be lovely."

"I warn you - I'm not a born orator, and the novels are a little longwinded."

"Well, we have time, don't we?"

The ocean was often used as a metaphor for love in poetry. This confused Minimus sometimes. Had those poets ever felt the terrible riptide? Had they seen the bights, the miles and miles of barren seabed? In the middle of ocean basins, far from the nutrient rich coast and river-silt, life was almost absent. Minimus suspected such poets were in love with the mystery of the ocean. But to Megatron - to someone who lived in it - apparently the sea could be a lonely place.

It wasn't the only such place - on land, there were vast deserts of dry heat, no plants and no life, where the wind whispered over searing dunes. Places where, in fact, ‘ _the lone and level sands stretched far away’_. Desolate places. Empty. Lonely. But imagine the desert-dust, rich in nitrates and phosphorous, being blown into an ocean wasteland. Imagine the sea-spray irrigating the dry sands. Between – where the ocean met the land – things were different.

That was the _real_ romance.

The rich bloom of life created in the marriage of two desolate places.

And after a lifetime of unhappiness, Minimus preferred the relentlessly peaceful, forever breaking waves. He preferred the edge, as in between the beach and the sea. In the phrase ' _I love you_ ', love was the grammatical separation between the words _‘I’_ and _‘you’._ But it was also the thing that connected them.

Later, Minimus managed to track down one of his favourite novellas: a sci-fi romance about two space-ship captains falling in love.

"Chapter one," he read aloud, already settling into a comforting drone. "'The ordered space-lawyer Maximus had only one passion, and that was his job. How ironic, that during a particularly difficult case, he should find his composure and his beliefs shaken by none other than Galvatron, his most hated enemy! But together they made an unbeatable working team, and Maximus was soon to find his deeply buried emotions being unearthed, by of all people, his worst enemy..." 

"Hmm." Megatron said, interested, and sat back against the wall of the bath. And if, after that novel, and after the next, and the next, they stopped to be familiar - to understand each other - to intimately discuss their ' _improper desires_ '?

Well.

They had the time, didn't they?

Deep down in the murky dust of Minimus' soul, a signal still flickered. A little light asking a desperate question: _‘What do you want?’_

Minimus might spend the rest of his life struggling to express an exact and honest answer.

But then again, it was the struggle that mattered most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes that was lube in the cupboard. No they didn’t use it. I was gentle with poor minimus… that would have been a bit much for their first time, I think lol. and Yes Megatron has a dick, but out of concern for Minimus' sensibilities, he didn't whip it out. it's a mer-shark dick, after all. it's probably got, hell, _spurs_
> 
> THE END!! THANK U FOR READING~


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